


still young and out of line

by suspendedinsuspense



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Dom/sub, Dominance, Dominant Bucky, M/M, Oral Sex, Submission, Submissive Steve, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1918119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspendedinsuspense/pseuds/suspendedinsuspense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain America wasn't supposed to be a submissive, but he is. And the only dominant who can keep him in line, ever, has been Bucky.</p>
<p>(yes. Another D/S au. I am not sorry)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed. Beware my porn!

He should have known earlier, really. 

The second he saw the Winter Soldier walk, that casual gait, he should have gotten it then. It’s just that he’s never seen anyone else – dominant, submissive, _anyone_ , ever roll their hips that way, walk that way, have that strut, except Bucky.

In retrospect, though, it was a good thing that he hadn’t recognized it right then. Steve is more than capable of handling any dominant who comes his way, he’s more than able to give them a _look_ and chase them off, and has been for the last eighty years (the seventy in the ice, for all intents and purposes, count). But Bucky?

He’s not sure that figuring it out, seeing him move like that, and working it all out wouldn’t have resulted with him on his knees a lot sooner than he was, and for entirely different reasons. Outing himself as a submissive would have been the least of his worries, at that point. What it might have done to Sam and Natasha, that was another matter. As it was, things worked out that Steve didn’t realize his very dead dominant wasn’t dead at all. 

(He is most impressed that he didn’t go near catatonic when they were there, when the words that came out of his mouth were _even when I didn’t have anything, I had Bucky_ , and he’s even more impressed that despite scads of love letters, if that’s what they could best be called, no one ever figured out that they were a thing. Best friend was apparently the official party line, even now, even after all their belongings had been rifled through.

He wonders if it was Peggy or Howard who hid everything, all the evidence, for the sake of the reputation of two dead men.)

Bucky could command an entire city block with how he rolled his hips, with submissives trailing after him. So after they find Fury, after they’re in hiding in some bunker somewhere, that’s when Steve takes a moment to himself, a pause, and runs his hands through his hair, again and again, as if it’ll calm him down. It doesn’t help. All it does is make him more agitated, the kind of agitated that an experienced dominant would see and drop him, quickly.

But no one knows.

And that’s part of the problem.

~~~~~

It wasn’t that submissives couldn’t fight. No one suggested that, even in 1943. Back in the Great War, the first one, there was a little fuss – what if a dominant from the other side dropped a submissive in the middle of a firefight, or gained critical information? But really, no one ever thought it was a real concern. Sure, women still had a hard go of it, but submissive men were thought to be perfectly in control of their urges if the motivation was right, and apparently, loyalty to one’s country was considered good motivation. 

It helped that historically, submissive men would just hide and no one would know, or people would turn a blind eye, during other wars. 

It was that Captain America couldn’t be a submissive – that was just a ridiculous notion. Erskine had anticipated that dominants probably couldn’t handle the serum, that their brain chemistry would get mixed up with some of the components, but no one outside of the SSR knew that. So when it worked, when Steve grew a foot in height and a good hundred pounds in weight, well, it was a good kind of surprise up until the point where someone told Senator Brandt that his new superman was also regularly dropped by his dominant who had gone off to war.

It didn’t take much for documents to be falsified, rearranged, and Captain America suddenly became a dominant to a bulk of the world, which Steve thought was ridiculous. The entire borough of Brooklyn knew exactly who and what he was, to say the least (but apparently, they were willing to play along).

~~~~~~  
The first time that Bucky dropped him, they were sixteen.

It was a hot day, the kind of sweltering day that seemed to hit Brooklyn with a kind of intensity that nowhere else ever suffered. Queens, Manhattan, even Staten Island, they always seemed less hot, less dusty, less dripping with sweat than Brooklyn. He and Bucky had tried to go into the picture show to see something – anything – just to get somewhere dark and kind of cool, although the stickiness of the air followed them from place to place, the smell of sweat and skin ripe between them no matter how much they showered.

Bucky more, because Bucky was bigger, because the summer they were sixteen his shoulders filled out, his gait lengthened, everything about him increased, while Steve stayed small and frail. _What a pretty submissive_ , someone polite might say, but really what they were thinking was that his rattling chest and his cough, persistent even in July, was really more a liability than anything. His mother would press cold cloths on him at night, tell him to stay out of the street, but how could he?

They were heading back from the pictures, lacking funds and lacking the charm to get in (well, Steve lacked the charm, and the ambition needed to use that charm) when Bucky saw something in a vitrine and told Steve to wait up outside, that he would be right out.

It always happened when Bucky wasn’t around. Steve heard the cries coming from around the corner and followed it. Michael Kaufman, looking as Jewish as he possibly could with his prayershawl (right, Saturday, Steve thinks as he steps forward) was curled around himself as Donald Morgan gave him the beating of his life.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Steve snapped, the kind of interruption that, coming from him, sounded a little winded (probably because he was).

Michael looked up with _help me_ eyes, even though he was almost one and a half times Steve’s size. Donald turned from the pummeling. “Get lost, Rogers,” he snarled, “this kike’s got it coming.”

It probably wouldn’t have taken all that, really. Steve was in no mood for bullies, but the slur was just this side of too much, and with all the force of his 89 pounds, he hurled himself bodily at Donald Morgan, who took it with little more than a huff and a step back. At some point after that, Michael took off in the only rational move made the entire day.

Later Steve would blame the heat, too.

The fight was not long, but apparently Steve yelling had caught Bucky’s attention, and a second later Bucky was there, smashing his fist into Donald’s eye with a simplicity and strength that Steve dreamed of, and pulling Steve off him. “And don’t you ever go near him again,” Steve yelled as Bucky dragged him away, muttering something under his breath.

He pulled him into a different alley, and gave him a look. “What do you think you were doing?”

“He was being a jerk, and you know it,” Steve replied.

The look on Bucky’s face, though. It was more than just annoyed; there was something else there, too. “You’ve got a quick fist, Rogers, and you don’t have anything to back it up.”

“I was doing the right thing,” Steve argued, but suddenly it was getting harder to breathe, and he didn’t think that his asthma was the reason. Bucky was crossing his arms over his chest, crowding him. “What are you doing?”

“I told you to stay put,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, into a register that Steve didn’t know it could hit, in a way that that hit Steve right in the base of his gut. It was like the roar of the ocean, then, the blood pounding, furious, in his ears. “You should have stayed put.”

Steve wanted to argue that. _You’re not my dom_ was the first thing that came to mind, but his mouth wasn’t getting the memo his brain was sending. Everything had gotten hot and still and severe, and Steve sputtered, “I’m not going to stop doing the right thing.”

Bucky’s mouth curved upwards, in a bit of a smile, and Steve felt a chill run down his spine. He realized, too late, that it was the heat of the city, cold against what Bucky was making him feel. “You have a big mouth, Rogers.”

Bucky must have said that a thousand times – no, more – in the past few years, since the first time they met, but Steve had never heard it sound so sexual. _You have a big mouth, and I’ll show you were to put it _, that’s the line he’s heard, the line from movies that he would never fess up to watching. But Bucky didn’t say that. Instead he reached out, put a hand on the back of Steve’s neck, and shook his head. “Eyes down.”__

__Steve didn’t know why, but suddenly he was looking at their feet. “I did the right thing,” he insisted, but the words didn’t come out with their usual fire. Instead they sounded just a bit hollow, desperate, the tremble of a whimper aching to come out with them._ _

__Bucky didn’t say anything, but they stood there, silent, for a long time, until finally Steve was on his knees and he couldn’t remember how he got there. He knew that Bucky’s hand had left the back of his neck. “Next time I say stay put, you stay put.” It was strange, because Steve was nodding, and it was like someone else had taken over his body. And then Bucky was drawing him up, bringing him close for a hug, and muttering, “look, it’s not that I want you to stop. You’re the bravest man I know, and you’re the best. But you gotta stop making messes when I’m not around to back you up.”_ _

__“I’ve gotten worse than a split lip, sir,” Steve said, and surprised himself with that. _Sir_. He’d never called anyone who wasn’t a teacher or a police officer _sir_ , and not anyone who had made him kneel in an alley for god-knows-how-long _ever_ before._ _

__Not that anyone ever had._ _

__Bucky just sighed. “I should take you over my knee, Rogers, but I’m going to let it slide. Come on,” he muttered, ruffling Steve’s hair, like Steve wasn’t coming up for air from being dropped so fast and so hard he could see stars around the corners of his eyes, “my mom bought enough in the way of apples to feed the entire state of New Jersey, I figure we can filch a couple.”_ _

__Steve gasped when they broke apart, and Bucky turned, his expression hard to read, Steve’s hands on his sleeve._ _

__And from then on, that’s just how it was._ _

__~~~~~  
Now, it’s more complicated. Steve has been two years without a dominant, because how can he trust anyone else outside of Bucky to be able to drop him like that, to trust anyone outside of Bucky to see that it wasn’t that Steve should stop, it’s that he should stop going at it alone? _ _

__He feels that ache inside of him every damned day, and sometimes he gets worked up to the point where he needs someone to drop him, where he needs someone to take command and get him under control; he destroys punching bags, tears them apart, because there’s so much in him – grief, rage, the feeling of utter and complete failure – that he can’t extract out of his soul by himself._ _

__But it’s been two years and Steve has learned to deal with it, to handle it without needing anyone by his side, and maybe that’s why he took so quick to Sam, who didn’t have any expectations either way._ _

__And maybe that’s why he tells him, too. Tells him that Bucky was – is? – his dominant, and that’s why he has to find him. After the carrier falls, after Bucky drags him up, after he wakes up and looks Sam in the eye and says that he should have known from the second he saw him walking that he should have known that was his dominant, and that it’s been tearing him up inside, but damn it, he has a duty._ _

__“Soldiers,” Sam says, after taking all that in (and to his credit just nodding, politely, and not making any wisecracks about it) “they handle this thing differently. We handle it differently. We have to know our own limits better than anyone. You have duty and then you have dynamic. Two different things. How are we supposed to serve if we’re getting mixed messages between duty and dynamic?”_ _

__“He was the only one who could handle me. He was the only one who kept me from doing really stupid things. Everyone on base, they thought I had it together, but I only had it together because he was there,” he says, and tries to not beat himself up, and fails. “I went off the rails when he died,” Steve finally admits, out loud. Those were the words everyone in the war council was thinking that day. “And I was the reason that Zola found him, and I was the reason that they did that to him. My own dominant.” There’s a bitterness there that wasn’t there before, and Steve doesn’t know how to let it go, how to get it out of his mouth. Bucky would have known how. Bucky would have gotten him on his knees and he would have-_ _

__That’s the problem. He doesn’t know. He can’t think like a dominant, he can’t even figure out how Bucky would have gotten him to calm down._ _

__“You have to stop beating yourself up over this,” Sam says. “You aren’t responsible for what happened to him.”_ _

__“But I am for whatever happens next.”_ _

__~~~~~_ _

__“You better not have touched yourself since this happened,” Bucky said, the first night that he was sturdy enough to catch Steve alone, after marching back to camp. It was a quiet kind of night. “Because I want to be the first to get you to bust a load, and I won’t be happy if you did it to yourself, first.”_ _

___I won’t be happy_ was Bucky’s code for, _I’m going to get you to regret it_ , and he always managed to deliver. He wasn’t one for corporal punishment – he didn’t get off on spanking and neither did Steve, really, they both felt kind of silly for it – but it didn’t mean he didn’t know how to make Steve regret any transgression. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, Buck-“ he paused, because suddenly Bucky gave him a look, and he swallowed, “ _sir_ ,” he corrected quickly, “and you didn’t give me orders not to.”_ _

__“I’m thinking you should have anticipated this one. What’s it called? Besides keeping your dominant happy.” Bucky’s hands were on Steve’s hips, measuring the distance of them, on his ribs and trying to gauge him, Steve thought, because there was a calculating look on his face. “I want you naked.”_ _

__Steve took a step back. “Anticipating demands and needs?” he guessed as he stripped, although his guess was as good as Bucky’s – he had never really paid attention in any etiquette classes, either. They were usually such a joke that there wasn’t a point. After a moment he was naked, and Bucky was still dressed, giving him that look like maybe he missed a cue, so Steve got on his knees, hands on his thighs, looking up at Bucky._ _

__Bucky, who was looking down at him with that _expression_ , and Steve felt his cock stir in response. “Hands on the back of your neck,” he says, calmly, and sits on the edge of the bed, and just looks at him. Steve does as he’s told, quickly, his breathing evening out. There’s something about this, about following orders like this, ones from someone he trusts and loves that makes everything else in the world go away. Something about this makes him realize that the best choice is the one to give his choices over, willingly._ _

__Bucky just looks at him for a long time._ _

__Finally he moves forward, presses his thumb against Steve’s lower lip, and Steve can’t help but taste it with the tip of his tongue, the salty, familiar flavor of Bucky’s skin. After he got cleared by medical, he got a shower, and it’s clean enough that he doesn’t taste dusty or strange at all. Not foreign. The first thing in months that isn’t._ _

__Bucky’s fingers trace Steve’s face, ruffle in his hair. “You’re not disappointed, are you?” Steve asks, looking up without turning his head._ _

__“That you’re healthy? And here? With me? What are you, crazy?” Bucky snorts a bit. “You always were a little thick, Rogers.”_ _

__“Takes one to know one,” Steve retorts, pleased._ _

__Bucky takes his time, he takes his shirt off slowly, runs a hand through his hair, undoes his boots. By this point Steve is so hard he could use his erection to hammer nails, but he doesn’t say anything. The waiting is killer, but that’s the point, and he knows it. Bucky’s been good at making him wait his whole life long, and he’s not changing for anything in the world. It’s maddening but it’s so familiar that he takes comfort in that relaxed, unhurried pace, as if there isn’t a war on, as if they’re not in a tent in the middle of Europe._ _

__Then Bucky’s back on the bed, sitting there, and his hands reach out. “Come here,” he says, and there’s a warmth to it, there’s something so pleased about it. Steve missed it. He’s missed this. He puts his head against Bucky’s leg, breathes in the smell of him. “You all right?”_ _

__“Please, sir,” Steve says, and looks up. Bucky’s giving him that look, like Steve knows he should be more clear, and Steve nudges his head. He doesn’t want to choose tonight. Lately it’s been too many choices, choices that Steve can make, but tonight he has his dominant and he can let those choices go._ _

__And Bucky gets it. His hands go to his fly and he undoes it, careful, and cups the back of Steve’s head with his other hand. He has his dick in his hand and Steve is close enough that he could press his mouth against him, but he doesn’t. Instead he waits, and is rewarded with Bucky pressing the tip of his erection against Steve’s lower lip. A smear of wetness clings there. Steve almost imagines he can taste it._ _

__“Use your mouth,” Bucky says, his tone low and thick in his throat, and Steve doesn’t hold back anymore. Sucking Bucky’s cock feels the same, it still makes heat pool, syrupy and strange, in the base of his stomach as he takes as much as he can in his mouth. He drools around it, and it turns sloppy, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind._ _

__Instead he’s making noises that sound sin; there’s nothing wrong with what they’re doing but that’s just Bucky, who can’t resist making everything he does sound and taste and look like someone might go to hell just for indulging in the sense of him. Steve’s indulgence isn’t a source of guilt, but something he thinks, when he’s sucking Bucky’s cock and has his hands clasped firmly behind him, that it should be._ _

__A few minutes later Bucky stops him and turns him on his stomach and fucks him, the whole time letting off a litany of praise; Steve glows under it. “You’re so perfect,” he says, pushing into him, and Steve can’t do anything but gasp and squirm under his dominant, “you’ve always been perfect, just for me, you give me exactly what I want, god, you’re tight-“_ _

__He comes with a groan and brings Steve off a minute later, and after they catch their breath, after they’ve been silent for a moment, Bucky presses his nose against Steve’s neck. “Stay on your knees a while.”_ _

__Steve didn’t know there was any tension left in him, but when he hears those words he realizes that he had been holding something back, because as Bucky moves away from him he feels it dissolve out of his body, just like that._ _

__~~~~~  
The worst part of this is that Steve remembers exactly how Bucky would respond to him going after him, and it’s starting to make him crazy. He can’t ask Sam to help – Sam is a dominant, without a single doubt, but asking Sam to drop him feels wrong on levels that aren’t just about cheating. He doesn’t want to pull Sam into that role, into making him treat him like he’s a patient, Sam isn’t his therapist. And no matter if Sam offered (which he doesn’t) he would have to say no. It’s too personal._ _

__And secretly, a part of Steve worries that Sam just wouldn’t be able to handle him. Bucky could, but Bucky knew him his whole life. During the war he would watch him and when he got stressed, when the pressure built, he would call him over with a bark of _Rogers_ and take him in hand. The discipline got intense – Steve remembers nights spent on his knees, his hands tied behind his back and his head down, just to keep him quiet. He wouldn’t trust anyone else to know that his limits weren’t to half an hour, or an hour, but that Bucky kept him that way for whole nights, and made him regret it if he didn’t – not with the strap, like most of the submissives in their day (and now, Steve realizes, when he sees a submissive girl with a short skirt and the back of her legs striped with red, and looks away because it feel like intruding to look) would get, but with things like cleaning his gun over and over until it was spotless, with sleeping on the floor, with having to sit still in Howard’s presence and listen to him talk about science for hours on end to keep him awake. Things no other dominant thought was punishment, but it kept Steve in line._ _

__It takes more than he can say to admit to himself that if scares him that no one else will be able to trace the inside of his head the way that Bucky could, and now it scares him that whatever it was that was looking at him when he said _I’m with you to the end of the line_ on the Helicarrier doesn’t carry a single trace of his dominant anymore._ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said it would only be 2 chapters but I finished this and I realized I needed a third chapter. Also please note the tags, some have been added.

There is a beast in his head, he thinks. It is a secret and a failing. Weapons do not have emotions, weapons do not think past the need to finish a mission, and weapons certainly do not care when they are put on their knees, when their heads are forced down and their fingers are made to interlace in their hair, silent.

But the Soldier does all of these things and it has turned into a beast, it has pressed its way into the cracks of his skull, in the spaces between thought and response, in the space where memory should be (but he has no memory save the memory of how to accomplish a mission successfully).

Once – and he knows this, he knows it because they let him keep this, or maybe they simply overlooked it – he watched a tech for three hours, her careful fingers on his arm, brushing over plating and repairing minor damage, and he focused on the turn of her mouth, on the way that her hands touched him like maybe he was something precious, and all he wanted to do was brush his hand through her hair and make her kneel.

And that fed the beast in his head, made it roar to life, even as he tried to press it away in the furious din of mission and death.

~~~~~

People think that being a dominant is the part that does all the work, that makes all the decisions, but that’s never been how Bucky’s seen it. It’s not like that at all, not with a submissive like Steve.

Sure, he’d been with other submissives. There’s a word out on the streets of Brooklyn, that there’s no submissive that James Buchanan Barnes can’t drop from a distance of a hundred feet, that his swagger and style and attitude has them falling to their knees, hands dutifully clasped behind their backs or at the top of their heads, legs just apart, like some kind of blue picture. That is patently untrue – he had enough firsthand evidence that there are kinds of submissives who just don’t want to play with him (and the other way around) but he’s also confident from the first time he got Mary Parker to drop her eyes when he tilted his head in the seventh grade that he could get most what he wanted from most anyone he liked.

And fact was fact was fact; most of what helped him out was an easy attitude and the absolute understanding that any submissive had the choice – the choice in to kneel and accept the drop – and the choice out, if they got bored or restless or worse, like when he was fifteen and still figuring out the turns of his own body, let alone the body of anyone else (especially a body so different as that belonged to a member of the female race) that the drop magically reversed and he ended up with his hand trying to frantically get a bored submissive off and _failing_. 

But then there was Steve.

It wasn’t supposed to be sexual. Steve was (is) his best friend first, and still, and that meant he wasn’t supposed to make it sexual. But getting Steve on his knees, that first time, with just a quiet word was easy, and it had never been that smooth, that quick before, and when Bucky pulled him up after and took him to his house and all they did was eat an apple and laugh, Bucky was sure he was going to explode.

A few hours later he went out and Jonathan Harvey got on his knees and sucked Bucky off in a way that was so worshipful, the kind of blowjob where Jon was practically tonguing a love letter on Bucky’s dick, that it made having to pretend that Jon’s light brown hair was a different shade of blonde completely worth it.

Steve, though.

Steve is difficult. If submission is about choice, well, Steve chooses not to without a good reason. Getting Steve to do as he was told involved the firmest hand that Bucky could apply, the kind of discipline that the army would envy in ways that the army would never think of. The fact that Steve got himself worked up, and Bucky had to resort to _punishment_ to work him down, well. That was just how it went, that’s just how it keeps going. The only thing that gets this to work is that Steve isn’t a brat – he doesn’t get revenge for punishments doled out.

Tonight’s that night.

“It wasn’t right, and I told you I’m not going to stop doing what’s right just because you say-so,” Steve says, stubbornly, his fat lip still bleeding a little but mostly patched up now. Bucky makes a sour face and keeps walking, hands stuffed in his coat pockets. It’s the end of October now, and it’s not freezing yet, but he has to keep his hands in there to keep them from smacking Steve on the back of the head. He had been at work, and Steve was just finishing up at his job when he saw some injustice or another and couldn’t wait for Bucky. 

That’s what burns, really. He doesn’t mind that Steve picks fights with the whole neighborhood. He doesn’t care that he doesn’t have a lick of sense when it comes to running from someone bigger and faster and stronger than he is. It’s that he always seems to choose to do this when Bucky’s not around. “I told you to wait, it’s a standing order for a reason, now march faster,” he snaps, his fists curling. He just wanted to come home and get a blowjob and fuck Steve in a leisurely fashion into the floor, and now-

-and now he’s wound up tight, the worry from coming home and finding his submissive nursing a split fat lip and a swollen eye having fallen away, leaving behind only frustration and the robbed sensation of having his orders not followed at all. Submissives slamming out of a drop are intimately familiar with the feeling of theft that Bucky is enduring now, and that puts him in the mood for something dark, so he decides to try and shift it into correction.

Disobeying an order is disobeying an order.

Steve knows it, though, he can see how tense Bucky is, so he just does as he’s told and follows, and they walk in mostly silence until they get to a run down tenement. The kids lounging outside sit up when Bucky breezes by. “Where are we?” Steve asks, his eyebrows up. This isn’t their tenement; this isn’t even close. 

Bucky doesn’t say anything; instead he knocks at a door, and takes Steve by the wrist. “This is punishment, don’t get me wrong.”

Steve holds still, silent, and the door opens with a click. The woman standing on the other side is wearing a dress that does beautiful things to her figure – the shape of her breasts are full and round under the fabric. She sees Bucky and her smile widens, breaks, and then she has her arms around him. “Buck, you awful boy! I haven’t seen you in _months_!”

“Hey, Dorothy,” Bucky says, and he’s smiling in response, even though right up until this moment he didn’t want to smile. Dorothy is a good girl, a sweet and very responsive submissive, and last time he had mentioned this particular punishment, she had whimpered and pressed his hand against her, up under her skirt. She had been dripping and scalding hot, and she was begging for him. “Catch you at a bad time?”

“No, come in-“ she starts, and then she spots Steve, and she clearly gets interested. “Who is this?”

“I’m Steve,” he says, and Bucky knows he should be able to hear the sullenness, but the fact is that Steve just sounds confused. 

Dorothy looks at Steve, and then at Bucky, and Bucky gives her a look and the realization on her face is like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. “Come in,” she whispers, and Bucky knows that her voice drops like that because she’s trying to hide how aroused she is.

“What’s going on?” Steve asks as he comes in after Bucky, closing the door.

Bucky moves to sit on the sofa while Dorothy, in a display of hospitality, grabs a pillow and puts it on the ground in anticipation. Steve stares at it, and a sudden understanding comes on his face, and he just looks over at Bucky, who gives a shrug, but he knows that he can’t hold back the hardness on his face. “Kneel,” he says, and here’s no room for argument in his tone of voice.

And this is Bucky’s favorite part, really. It’s that moment. Most submissives might just kneel, without question, and ask questions later, or get bratty about it and skirt around kneeling, but Steve doesn’t do any of those things. Instead he looks at Bucky, looks at the door, and looks at Dorothy, and there’s a thought process going on in his head that’s so clear, Bucky can almost hear him say it. He’s deciding. He’s choosing. He knows that if he goes home now, if he leaves, he can probably negotiate a punishment that won’t make him feel as bad as the one he’s facing now will, but he also knows that if he does that, that Bucky will be on some level disappointed with his response to the consequences of his actions. 

And he’s weighing that decision.

And then he takes his coat off, and he kneels, hands on his thighs, and Bucky falls in love with him all over again.

Dorothy just smiles and pulls her hair down from the curls, the blonde of it against her shoulders. “Sir?” she asks, shyly, and Bucky reaches a hand for her. 

“Come here, sweetheart,” he says, smiling at her, and she moves between his legs to stand there, and kneel. She looks so pretty, but her skin is already flushed with want from this. He runs a hand through her hair, careful, in something that he does with Steve sometimes. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Yes, sir,” she says, and he presses her head down so her cheek is against the crotch of his jeans, and she just rests there for a moment. He can see her eyes close, and she shifts a bit, like she’s trying to get comfortable. 

God, he can almost smell her, that's how wet she is.

“All I wanted was to come home and have a night. To ask-“ and Bucky says ask, because that’s what he always does, softly, whenever they’re just at home, he asks _hey, sweetheart, can you put your mouth on me?_ , “-for your mouth, and then to take you to bed. But you went and found a fight and you didn’t wait. Do you understand why we’re here?” he asks, because that’s important.

Otherwise Steve might think this is something it isn’t.

Steve looks at him and there’s no murder in his face, which is why Bucky loves him so much. He knows. And it takes him a minute because clearly he’s embarrassed. “I’m here because I got into a fight without you,” he says, his mouth pressing into a line. He doesn’t like it. But he gets it. It's not about getting into a fight. It's about not letting Buck help.

“Dorothy,” Bucky says softly, “why don’t you give me what Steve couldn’t.”

She looks up at him and the first thing she does, to his surprise, is unbutton her dress. The flush is up her breasts – the freckles there are standing out against her skin – and she reaches back to undo the brassiere. She has pretty tits, her nipples a dusky rosy pink, but Bucky isn’t really interested. 

Then she undoes his jeans and tugs the material down, away, and Bucky has to look away from what she’s doing. He’s watching Steve, watching his hands roll up into fists when she touches Bucky’s cock, watches his breath hitch when she takes him into her mouth and suckles on him with tiny, whimpery noises, like this is the best thing she’s ever had in her mouth.

Bucky’s hands are in her hair, petting, and he can’t look away from Steve, who is flushing himself – red and jealous, and unable to stop watching as Bucky’s hips start to move, as he starts to groan his pleasure at Dorothy, who is wiggling with how much she’s enjoying it. 

He lets her mouth at him – it’s good, it’s better than good, there’s nothing really that Bucky likes more than this, than a submissive’s mouth on him while they whimper prettily and move their hips like they’re trying to find something firm to fuck – but before, before he’s even on the edge, really, he pulls her up.

Her mouth is swollen, and she licks her lips. “Go over and give Steve a kiss. Let him taste what he’s missing,” Bucky says, and she reverently presses a kiss to the end of Bucky’s cock, a drop of fluid on her lips. She kneels in front of Steve, and he looks hesitant for a moment. He hasn’t kissed many – or maybe any, Bucky isn’t sure – girls, and he looks a little worried, but then she kisses him and it’s obscene. Dorothy’s mouth is on him and he’s licking at hers, and her hand goes to his crotch for a moment to rub there, to tease him up.

It’s perfect.

When she finishes she looks just a little mischievous, like she’s just gotten away with stealing something precious, and then she looks back at Bucky.

Bucky wants to pounce on them both, to make him fuck her while Bucky fucks him, but that wouldn’t teach anyone anything except how to make their dominant lose their mind. He reaches and Dorothy comes back to him on her knees. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

She doesn’t whimper this time, but her voice is breathy. “I’m so wet for you, sir,” she says, her hands curling into her dress, like if she doesn’t clutch at the fabric the next thing that she’ll do is touch herself. “Will you please let me take my panties off?”

He reaches for her again, gets her to stand, and just runs his hands over her legs, up until he can undo her garters, and pull her panties down, one thumb running over her slit quickly. She is wet, she’s sopping, hot and messy, and she groans when he feels her. 

Steve is watching like nothing – not an air strike, not an earthquake, not Hitler himself could make him move away from this scene. He keeps licking his lips like he could just get the last taste of Bucky, and his hands are so tight against his trousers that Bucky thinks he’ll rip the fabric if he’s not careful about it as Bucky pulls her against him. “You want me in you, doll?” he asks, shifting a bit to find a condom, smartly stored in a back pocket, waiting for this day. 

She makes a noise of longing that Bucky’s never heard before. “Let me show him what a good girl is like,” she says, and Bucky laughs, even as Steve’s jaw sets against the words. He stays frozen as Bucky maneuvers her, as she curls over him and her hands go into his hair, her mouth against his ear. 

He’s glad that she doesn’t try to kiss him. She sinks onto him, hot and wet and encompassing, drenching him. He has to breathe out about it, he has to breathe through it, and he just whispers “ _Good girl_ ,” against her ear, but he’s looking at Steve, who looks like he’s not sure if he’s aroused or angry. 

Bucky fucks her like she’s Steve, and he keeps looking at him like that’s the only way to make it real. She comes with a cry, squeezing around Bucky, and he follows a few moments later, his hands imprinting bruises shaped like fingers into the base of her spine. 

She goes fair boneless, and lies there for a moment, quiet on him, and he keeps telling her what a good girl she is, and she’s fairly glowing with it. “Steve,” he says, “come here, give her a kiss, and thank her.”

Steve looks like he would rather eat dirt, but this is the last bit of this punishment, this is the last feather in this cap, and so he does as he’s told, graciously, and when they leave he reaches for Bucky’s hand and holds it so tightly, so possessively, that someone might mistake him for a dominant.

~~~~~

This is the problem with the beast.

While he is on mission, there are no problems. He takes the shot, he kills who needs to be killed, he _shapes history_ , although he doesn’t care about the act of shaping history and doesn’t care about who he serves, really. He is the weapon.

And then-

And then-

He saves the man because the man is _his_ and that wars in his head. The only thing that is his are his bones. His weapons, his clothes, his armor, even the metal arm, none of that belongs to him. His bones are what will be his when he dies, and so that’s what belongs to him while he lives. So he saves the man and leaves him on the bank, once he sees him breathe, because the man _is not his_ , no matter what the beast in his head, occupying more and more space recently, filling up gaps even where thought and mission no longer intersect but places where emotion is starting to build, uncomfortably, settling in the nooks and crannies between his eyes but in his gut and fingers, too.

This land of Maryland is not strange. The Soldier knows it very well, in a way. There is nothing foreign to him, there is nothing about the people going about their daily lives that he does not understand. But sometimes he sits at the edge of a restaurant and drinks a glass of something, and a man will sit next to him and flick his eyes a certain way, and he can feel a slam in his head like a door opening, like memory crowding him.

~~~~~

“You’re an ass,” Steve says with a laugh, as Bucky presses kisses against his new stomach, his new chest. He can’t get enough of this new body.

~~~~~

The Soldier fucks because it gives him memory but the submission is too easy, there is no resistance, not in the bratty way that most submissives think is cute or sexy or teasing, but in an honest way, there is no _choice_ or weighing of it. Maybe there is a truth there; that every submission must be choice, and the Soldier has had every choice taken away from him.

~~~~~

“Don’t you dare do anything that stupid again. Do you understand me?” Bucky grabs Steve by the hair, and Steve looks up, and suddenly he understands. There must be all the fear that is locked in Bucky’s stomach on his face, for all that he’s trying to stay stern. “Do you?”

“Yes sir,” Steve says, with such fervor that Bucky believes him.

~~~~~~

“Everyone knows they found Captain America after he crashed his plane,” the Soldier hears in the Smithsonian, and all he can do is sit and think, this is my fault, this happened because I wasn’t there to stop him.


End file.
